Adventure, February 1917 — page 98: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

56 message. Campbell took a chair, and sat looking.at his neat pink nails. “How have you been, Miss Murua?”’ he asked. Murua always answered a question care- fully and literally. “T have been well in body, but somewhat | oppressed in mind, Captain Campbell. I have not been acquainted with trouble be- fore, and I find it weighs upon the spirits.” “Other people besides you have remarked as much,” said Campbell dryly. ‘“‘You are fortunate in having waited so long to find it out. Haven’t you ever been under the weather before?”’ “In some ways I have. I have thought I was going to die more than once, but that is different. It does not weigh upon your - spirits.” “Right, small lady; it does not. Quite the contrary sometimes, if you’ve reason- able grounds for thinking that some one else is about as likely to die as you, and that --you’re going to help them to do it.” “T had not that consolation,” replied. Murua narratively. ‘The last time I re- member it was when I was on the Wood- larks——”’ “On the how much? with ‘on the bust’?” “No, Captain Campbell, nothing at all— at least, I would not say nothing at all, be- cause the Woodlarks is the biggest goldfield we have, and the miners go busting, as you call it, oftener than they should. Pups and I were on the Woodlarks for some weeks, owing to a revolt among the natives, who threatened to attack the miners employing them and roast them aliveion sticks. Of course such impudence could not be toler- ated by the Government for a single mo- ment.” | “It certainly would be impudent to roast you on a stick,” mused Campbell. “So we went to talk to ier: and while Pups was up at the mines, conversing with the white men, after he had talked to the natives and succeeded in convincing them that they were in the wrong, I went for a walk to get butterflies. Pups was stopping to handcuff the natives : “Whom he had convinced?” — “Yes, Captain Campbell. And I got into Anything to do a place in the bush where I had never been « before, and while crossing a creek, I found something objectionable 1 in it—the head of a white miner.” Adventure “Very objectionable, for the miner.’ “Yes, it was, of course. And ee ques- tion then arose, what must I attribute it to?» So I unslung my rifle and began to think. And before I had thought a minute, I smelled musk, very strong.” “Ah! Same as West Africa. Did he go for your” 3 “No, Captain Campbell, he did not go for me; I have no doubt he would have, but I went for him first, and I have his skin and teeth in my room at the station, nineteen feet, six inches long. I mean the skin.” “‘Where’d you get him?” asked the Cap- tain interestedly, looking with fresh won- der at this child-woman in the pretty dress, who went forth to slay alligators in their native swamps. “Plugged him one in’ the belly, near the arm,” replied Murua calmly. ‘You do not often get the chance, but he had thrown his head up to open his mouth, and I was rather underneath, on the bank of the river. May I give you some tea?” “Thanks. What are the flowers you are wearing?” “They are not flowers, they are butter- flies—black butterflies. I am wearing them as mourning for Harold.” ‘“Why, so they are!” said the sailor, look- ing at the beautiful black velvet wings that almost seemed to flutter on the snowy dress. ‘‘You’re a bit of a poetess, aren’t your You make me think of Mrs. Pat Campbell and her famous recitation, ‘But- terflies.” You must have been thinking of it, surely, when you chose the ‘Butterflies —all black!’ ” “T never heard it,” answered Murua a trifle wistfully. “Is.it very pretty?” “Well, it wants Mrs. Pat to do it justice, but listen: At sixteen years she knew nocare: How could she, sweet and pure as light? And there pursued her everywhere Butterflies all white, A lover looked, she dropped her eyes That glowed like pansies wet with dew, And lo! there came from out the skies Butterflies of blue. Before she guessed, her heart was gone; The tale of love was softly told; And all about her wheeled and shone Butterflies of gold. Then he forsook her one sad morn She wept and sobbed, ah, eee come back There only came to her forlorn Butterflies all black. Comicaoolks